


Golden hands

by novera_nope



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/M, Piano AU, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-01-23 12:07:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12507052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novera_nope/pseuds/novera_nope
Summary: When talented young pianist Brienne Tarth sets foot in the conservatory for the first time, she is overjoyed.Then she meets Jaime Lannister.





	1. Chapter 1

As Brienne was standing in the entrance hall of the conservatory for the first time, she couldn't help smiling from ear to ear.

Finally. _Finally_ someone had recognized her talent. When Mrs Stark had heard her playing, she’d immediately offered to take her under her tutelage. So here she was, not even 18, in the most acclaimed conservatory of whole Westeros. 

Brienne didn't think she'd ever been so happy in her whole life.

She climbed the marble stairs in a most ungraceful manner – the steps were so low that for someone with legs as long as hers, it was nearly impossible to ascend them without tripping, even taking two steps at a time. Still, her smile remained plastered on her face.

Once Brienne had managed to get upstairs, it took her a while to find the classroom where she was supposed to meet Mrs Stark. The place was a bloody maze! She didn't mind that much, however – at this point, nothing could alter her good mood.

At least, that’s what she thought.

When she'd finally found the correct room almost a quarter late, she was welcomed most warmly by Mrs Stark. Then her eyes fell on the other student who was there, seated at the piano, and who was introduced to her as Mr Lannister. For a moment she was struck by how good-looking he was, but then her eyes met his. The look he gave her, was downright murderous. She instinctively recoiled.

Mrs Stark didn’t seem to notice the exchange, as she cheerfully announced she was going to retrieve some inscription documents for Brienne from the secretariat.

After she'd left, the boy was still looking at her. Then he cocked his head. “Gods, _Tarth_ , but you're ugly,” he stated.

Brienne felt a blush creeping up her neck. Of course. _Of course._ She'd almost forgotten in her merriment. Wherever she went, it was always the same thing. Always, her appearance would catch up with her.

But she'd be damned if she'd let this asshole get away with this. Today was just too special for that.

She raised an eyebrow and tried to look like his words didn't sting. “And that bothers you, because...?”

His answer was swift and cruel. “Because apparently, I will be looking at your ugly face for the whole of this academic year, that's why.”

He stood up abruptly, making the piano stool all but fall back. “Tell Stark I don’t feel well,” he snarled, before storming out of the classroom, banging the door behind him.

He left Brienne looking at the door with her mouth open, looking like a fish. What on earth was that jerk’s problem? How _dare_ he –

The door opened again, making Brienne jump. It was only Mrs Stark, though. She was surprised that Lannister had left, but then she smiled and said that at least that left them with more time for Brienne’s first lesson.

And although the lesson went well – Mrs Stark was full of good advice and constructive criticism, and Brienne immediately felt this teacher was absolutely right for her –, Lannister’s words kept playing over and over in her head.

It should have been the best evening of her life, and that ass had managed to positively ruin it for her. 

***

Next Friday, not wanting to be late again, Brienne arrived at the conservatory much earlier. Much to her surprise, though, she found her way through the hallways easily this time and she ended up being 10 minutes early for her lesson.

Unfortunately, Lannister appeared to be early, too. She found him sitting down in the hallway, leaning against the classroom door in a relaxed pose.

“Ah, Tarth.” He smiled, looking more handsome than such a bastard had a right to. “There you are, finally.”

“What do you want?” she snapped, acutely aware of how she was towering over him.

His expression turned serious as he looked up at her. “I wanted to apologize. For last week.” He looked at his hands for a moment. “I didn't mean to be so rude.”

Brienne snorted. “That wasn't rude. That was _cruel_.”

“Yeah, well. And that.” He raked a hand through his perfect hair, before meeting her eyes again. “Look, I was... angry. And you took the brunt of that. I'm sorry.”

Brienne hesitated for a moment, measuring him up. Then she sighed and plopped down next to him.

“Besides,” Lannister continued. “being ugly is actually not that bad. My grandmother used to say that ‘when the women is not fair, the man will never have to share’.”

 _For the love of..._ “And that's supposed to be an apology?” Brienne yelled, starting to crawl up until a hand on her shoulder stopped her and gently pulled her back down.

“Wench. That was a joke. You need to lighten up a bit.”

Brienne found herself staring in Lannister's green eyes, which were suddenly very close and twinkling with mirth. “That would be much easier if I weren't stuck with you,” she mumbled.

“Besides,” he continued as if he hadn't heard her. “I take back what I said. Your eyes are absolutely stunning.”

“You –“ Brienne blushed despite herself. “You – you’re _impossible_.”

Lannister grinned and let go of her, leaning back against the wall. “So I’ve been told.”

At this point Brienne had no idea what to think of him anymore, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily. “You said you were angry,” she said. “Before. Why?”

When he didn’t answer, she decided to press the matter. “Why?” she insisted. “If you truly wish to apologize, you can at least give me that.”

“Because,” he sighed, “Stark refused to pair me up with my sister anymore.”

“Your sister?” Brienne didn’t understand.

“We’ve always played _together_ , you know.” Lannister was staring at a large crack in the wall opposite them. “But, and I quote, as cute as it may be to put two six-year-olds at the piano together, at this point in our careers we need to let go of each other and find our own sound. Apparently, there’s nothing more we can learn from each other.”

Brienne was surprised at the bitterness that had crept into his voice, but then again, she didn’t know the boy at all. “That’s not my fault, though,” she said softly.

“You’re right,” he answered. “And I _am_ sorry.” Then he shrugged and jumped up, brushing away some imaginary lint off his designer jeans. “Besides, it’s no big deal. Cersei and I are still in composing class together.” He was suddenly all confident nonchalance again. 

Honestly, Brienne had never met anyone so fickle in her entire life. She was about to call him on it, when Mrs Stark appeared on the other end of the hallway.

Much to her surprise, Lannister held out his hand. “Come on, wench,” he smirked. “Let’s see if there’s something I can learn from _you_.”

The challenge was clear and Brienne grinned back. She’d never been one to back down from a challenge. So she took his hand and let him haul her up. “You’re on, Lannister.”

“Jaime,” he corrected her. “My name is Jaime.”


	2. Chapter 2

During the weeks that followed, it became clear that both Brienne and Jaime could, indeed, learn quite a lot from each other. Whereas Jaime's technique was sublime, Brienne noticed he put little to no emotion in his play.

She, on the other hand, turned out to be technically not quite up to par with the conservatory's standards, but she put her soul in everything she played. So far, Mrs Stark seemed pleased enough with her. 

The difference in their styles often led to heated discussions between Brienne and Jaime, which soon became a source of amusement to Mrs Stark.

If she were honest with herself, Brienne was enjoying their debates as well. For one, there weren’t many people who were as passionate about the piano as she was. And furthermore, loath as she were to admit it, Jaime Lannister was actually not the jerk she’d taken him for.

Yes, they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but since then, she’d learned his constant remarks were more often than not playful jests instead of vicious jibes. He was sharp, intelligent, and witty. 

That didn’t mean, however, that he was right in his opinion on the emotional aspects of piano playing.

***

“You're playing it _perfectly_ , but you're completely missing the point here, Jaime!”

It was a dark autumn evening in November. Mrs Stark had called in sick, leaving them the message that it would be ‘an interesting exercise for both Mr Lannister and Miss Tarth to work on the Etudes together’. The last word was underlined twice by the secretary.

Jaime snorted. “Come on, wench, it's a study piece. Which means it's not meant to convey any emotions; it's just an exercise.” He paused, a smile tugging at his lips. “You could use some, by the way. Exercise, I mean.”

Brienne decided to ignore the quip. “Can you really not hear what the composer's telling you?” She was not going to let him distract her, dammit. “Chopin is talking about the lust for life; the upper voice should be singing and bouncing and you – you sound like a robot.”

“I'm simply saving my energy for the real stuff.” Jaime sounded bored.

“Don't,” Brienne retorted. “I challenge you. Play it once more. _My_ way.”

Jaime looked at her, eyes suddenly flickering, then back at the keys. “Alright.” 

“Alright?” Brienne couldn't hide the surprise in her voice. She'd not expected Jaime to concede, not in a million years, but she felt oddly pleased. 

Jaime closed his eyes for a moment, frowning in concentration, and then his hands started darting across the keys.

For a minute, Brienne couldn't tear her eyes away from him. He was always beautiful when he played. Phrases that she couldn't even dream of mastering, he played seemingly without any effort.

He was still just playing the notes, though, not the music. About halfway, she interrupted him. “Stop, Jaime. That’s not it.”

“No?” He sounded faintly irritated.

“That was good, as usual,” she said, placating, “but it's – wait.” She took a chair and sat down by his side.

“You see the part over here?” She pointed at the sheet. “The highest notes have the melody here, and you should try to communicate that to the listener. Increase the volume, maybe.”

“Oh, and here,” she continued, her voice raising. “You should slow down a bit, you know? Decrease the tempo, forestalling what is to come. It won't sound so flat if you do that.”

Jaime was looking intently at her instead of the sheets, but Brienne hardly noticed. 

“And then there's the keystroke,” she rambled on. “In the delicate part over here, you need to touch the keys softly, lovingly, you know? Over and over, increasing the volume, until the climax bursts, right over here, and – _what_?”

Brienne’s eyes snapped towards Jaime, who was positively having a fit.

“I'm sorry,” he snickered, “but did you actually just tell me to keep stroking the keys until the climax?”

“Lannister!” Brienne’s head was as red as a tomato. “You're – you're –” She swatted at him with the Chopin sheets and he ducked away, still cracking up. 

When he could finally _breathe_ again, his expression turned serious. “I do think I understand what you mean, though. And I’ll try it.”

Brienne’s brows shot up. “You will?”

“For this week,” Jaime said. “Just to see how that works out. But how about you?”

“What about me?”

“We’ve been at this for…” Jaime looked at his watch. “… for over an hour and you haven’t even touched the piano. Which isn’t very fair.”

Brienne snorted. “And you’re all about fairness,” she needled. 

“Actually, I am.” Jaime wasn’t laughing at all this time. “Or at least, I try to be.”

How was it that he could make her feel guilty about her teasing, while he was joking around _all the bloody time_? 

“I need to go to composition class now, but maybe we could meet here tomorrow?” He started stuffing the sheets into his bag. “I’m sure there’s a classroom available somewhere.”

Spending more time with Jaime Lannister. Out of her own free will. A few weeks earlier she would have declared herself insane. “Alright,” she heard herself say. 

“Good.” Jaime sounded surprisingly pleased. “2 o’clock?” He didn’t await her answer. “How come you’re not taking composition, anyways? I was under the impression that class is obligatory.”

Brienne blushed slightly. “That would be because I’m not officially a student here. Yet. I’ll be taking the class next year, though.”

“What? How old are you?” Jaime’s hand stilled above his bag. 

“17,” she answered, feeling shy all of a sudden. 

“You’re still in high school?” Jaime didn’t bother to hide his surprise. “What on earth are you doing at the conservatory, then?”

“Getting a head start, I guess,” Brienne said truthfully. “Mrs Stark heard me play at Tarth Academy last year, and she approached me afterwards. She said she couldn’t officially inscribe me here, not until I turn 18, but she proposed to prepare me as well as she could. And I accepted.”

Jaime’s eyes had widened slightly. “She must have been impressed,” he mused. 

“I guess so,” Brienne mumbled. 

Jaime looked at her for a moment, considering. “I'm starting to see where she's coming from,” he said, before abruptly slinging his back over his shoulder and moving over to the door. 

After he’d left, Brienne simply sat there for quite a while, contemplating the strange, warm feeling in her belly.


	3. Chapter 3

It was strange, seeing Jaime standing in the sunlight instead of the fluorescent lamps of the conservatory. His hair looked positively golden like this.

He was waiting for her at the bicycle shed when she arrived the next day. “There you are. _Finally_.” He was looking rather annoyed.

“It's not even two o'clock!” Brienne huffed indignantly. She was wiping away the sweat on her brow with her sleeve, when she noticed the smirk on his face. “For the love of – stop _doing_ that, Lannister!”

Jaime burst out laughing. “Why? It's fun!” he teased. “The look on your face –”

“You better have some good advice for me,” she muttered, fastening her bike.

“I have.” Jaime's expression changed from playful to serious. “I've changed my mind, though. We're not going inside, we're going to the park,” he announced decidedly. 

Brienne looked at him like he'd lost his mind. “Has it escaped your notice that the park isn't exactly littered with pianos?”

Jaime smirked. “Let's just say I think you'll benefit from a different approach.”

Brienne rather doubted that, but it _was_ a beautiful autumn day, and she let herself be hauled to the park nearby. They sat down on the grass beneath a shedding tree.

“And what do you propose we do now?” she asked, not trying to conceal the fact that she thought the whole idea was rubbish.

Jaime looked completely unfazed. “Now I teach you, wench. Are you ready?” 

He continued without awaiting her answer. “So. For one, you're playing your pieces way too fast. That's what causing you to make so many errors – your technique is simply not good enough for that kind of tempo.”

Brienne bit her lip. “You don't mince your words, do you?”

“Do you want to be taught, or do you want to be mollycoddled?”

Brienne studied Jaime's face for a moment, but as she could not discern any mockery or even humor, she nodded her consent.

“So you should take it slower. And as for your technique, I'm thinking you're having problems with finger independence,” he continued.

“With _what_?” She'd never heard of finger independence before.

“I'll show you.” Jaime moved to sit in front of her, cross-legged. “Give me your hand.”

As Brienne hesitantly held out her right hand to him, he scooted closer and put it on his upper leg. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the material of his trousers.

“Put it in the correct position, like you would on the keys.” She did. “No, not so rigid. Try to relax.” 

She took a deep breath, trying to relax her hand while it was placed on _Jaime Lannister’s leg_. 

“Lift your index finger,” Jaime ordered.

Brienne lifted it without any effort. 

“Your middle finger,” he continued. 

She did. “I don't really see how this is –“

“Now, lift your ring finger,” Jaime interrupted her.

When she tried, she found she could hardly do it. Her finger went up a couple of millimeters, but that was it. She shook her head in frustration. “How –" 

“It's quite a common problem,” Jaime reassured her. “The middle and ring finger share a common tendon, hence the ring finger is always the weakest.”

He took her hand in his and turned it around. “Here.” With his index finger, he slowly traced the tendon. Brienne felt a jolt of electricity flash throughout her body and she instinctively jerked her hand back. Her eyes flew up to Jaime's.

For the tiniest moment, he looked as startled as she felt. Then he looked away, clearing his throat. “You'll be fine, but you'll need to train to overcome that issue.”

Brienne blinked. She had no clue as to what had just happened, but decided to file the thought away for later. “What – should I do, then?”

“Well, for one, you should do this exercise twice a day. Just lift up all of our fingers, one by one, and then back again. Learn how to control each and every one of them.”

She could do that. “I will,” she stated.

“And when you've mastered that, you do the same, but in pairs,” Jaime added. First you lift the thumb and index finger, together. Then the index and middle finger, and so on.”

Brienne nodded. It actually made sense.

“And most importantly...“ The cocky grin reappeared on Jaime's face and Brienne suddenly felt alarmed. “You won't play Chopin this week. Not even once.”

“But –"

“If I am to do it your way, this week,” Jaime interrupted her, “then you'll do it my way.”

 _Quid pro quo._ It wasn't an unreasonable demand. But – “But Mrs Stark will want to hear my study piece next week, won't she?” Brienne pressed.

“And you'll do fine, if you do it _my way_.” Jaime looked utterly self-assured. “Trust me.”

 _I trust no one_ , Brienne wanted to say, but much to her surprise, she felt the statement didn't ring true, not anymore. “I do,” she answered instead in a soft voice. 

If she was surprised by her own feelings, Jaime's reaction surprised her even more. He was practically beaming. “Good,” he said, his green eyes shining.

Then he turned around and stretched his limbs before laying down in the grass. He closed his eyes. “Come on, wench, we've done enough for today. Let's relax for a while.”

 _Relax_. It was a word that simply didn't apply to Brienne; however, there was no harm in trying, was there? She lay down next to Jaime uneasily. 

For a while, she just stared up at the clouds, wondering what it was about the boy that made her feel so good around him. Maybe, ironically, it was his blunt honesty. 

She turned her head towards him and as if on cue, Jaime opened his eyes and smiled softly at her. “Relax,” he repeated sleepily. 

And she did, until Jaime woke her up two hours later, cursing loudly. “Come on, wench, we need to get going. I needed to be somewhere half an hour ago.”

They rushed back to the conservatory, where they said their goodbyes quickly. 

The sky was already darkening when Brienne mounted her bike and began the long ride home. The evening air felt chilly against her cheeks, but she enjoyed every minute of it. She felt rather well-rested and, well, happy.


	4. Chapter 4

After Jaime'd played the last measures of his study piece, silence fell over the classroom. 

Brienne was proud of him; although he hadn't grasped the full meaning of the Etude yet - at least not in her opinion -, he was finally playing music instead of just notes. He'd been working hard on this, she could tell. 

“Bravo, Mr Lannister.” Mrs Stark was looking impressed, as well. “That's quite an improvement compared to last week.” 

She took her pen and scribbled something in her notebook. 

Then she looked up, regarding him gravely. “I'll be blunt. Musicality is not something that comes naturally to you, as it does to Miss Tarth, for example. I was actually beginning to believe it's just not _in you_. But today, you proved me wrong.”

Jaime's eyes were shining with delight. 

“And I must tell you,” Mrs Stark continued, “Should you learn to master this, in combination with your outstanding technical skills, you'll be quite the concert pianist, Mr Lannister.”

Jaime seemed taken by surprise by the compliment and Brienne almost had to laugh out loud. Now _that_ was a sight she'd never seen. 

“Let's hear Miss Tarth now.” Mrs Stark waved in the general direction of the piano. 

The smile on her face disappeared immediately. Following Jaime's advice, she hadn't played her study piece at all this week and the feeling of not being prepared, always made her nervous. 

Once she'd started, though – in a lower tempo than usual, as Jaime'd recommended – she immediately felt he had been right. She still made some mistakes, yes, but the more difficult phrases came out much more even than before. 

When she'd finished, Mrs Stark looked from Brienne to Jaime and then back again. Then she smiled broadly. 

“Honestly, I don't know what you've been up to last Friday, but I'm beginning to think I should become ill more often. Very good indeed, Miss Tarth.”

She started making notes again and Brienne's gaze wandered to Jaime. He was looking straight at her, and in his look she thought she could see the same pride she'd felt earlier. 

***

After the lesson, Brienne's mood changed considerably when she looked through the windows in the hallway. There was a storm going on outside, and she hadn't even brought her rain coat, as the sun had still been shining when she'd left home. She should probably have checked the weather report before she left. 

“You're not thinking about going through _that_ , are you?” a voice behind her asked. 

“Why not?” She tried to sound tough. “I'll survive.”

“Brienne, don't,” Jaime sounded adamant. “It's unpleasant, if not dangerous.”

She sighed. “I need my bike tomorrow. I can't just leave it here.”

“I could take you home in my car,” Jaime suggested. “I don't mind.”

“And what about my bike?”

“It'll fit in my car, wench.” Jaime grinned. “Hell, even _you_ will fit.”

Brienne threw him a dirty look. “And what about your composition class?”

“You'll come with me.” He looked at her like she was dense. “I'll explain the situation to Mr Tarly and you'll – well, it's quite fun, really. You'll like it, I promise.”

Brienne was hesitating. “I don't know.” 

Outside, a blast suddenly tried to disroot the tree in front of the building. Jaime raised an eyebrow. 

“Alright,” she conceded gruffly. 

“I'll go and find Mr Tarly, then.” Jaime looked pleased. “You go ahead, I'll catch up with you.”

***

After she'd texted her father that she was going to be late, Brienne made her way to the classroom Jaime'd given her the directions to. Once again, it struck her how _big_ the conservatory was, but at the point where she thought she was lost again, she saw a girl standing at the end of the hallway. 

_Cersei_. 

It had to be her. She had the same golden hair as Jaime, the same refined features, the same green eyes – no. When Brienne came closer, she saw the eyes weren’t the same at all. Unlike Jaime’s, they held no warmth whatsoever. 

“You must be Jaime’s sister. I’m Brienne,” she introduced herself, forcing a smile. “Hi.”

Something flashed in Cersei’s eyes, but it was gone before Brienne could recognize what it was. 

Cersei took a step forward. Her eyes raked across Brienne’s face and body leisurely, without any pretense of shame. She didn’t say anything, but the scornful twitch of her mouth conveyed the message perfectly to Brienne. 

Brienne's smile slowly disappeared, being replaced by a blush. 

She should’ve seen this coming, really. She’d often stood up against men and women like Cersei though, and she wasn’t about to let this haughty girl get her down with a simple look. 

“Is there a problem?” she asked in what she hoped was a steady voice. 

“A _problem_?” Cersei hissed. “Apart from you taking _my_ place in _my_ piano class and now contaminating _this_ class with your ugliness, as well? No, I can't see why there would be a problem.” 

Brienne always told herself that she was used to the insults. Every single time though, they just seemed to hit her like a brick. Not that she'd ever show that. 

“That was Mrs Stark's decision, not mine,” she said evenly. 

Cersei opened her mouth, undoubtedly to throw another insult at her, but then her eyes flew to something behind Brienne and she closed it again. 

“Ladies,” Jaime greeted them cheerfully, completely oblivious to the tension around him. “I see you two have met.”

“So we did,” Brienne tried to sound neutral. While Jaime hardly talked about his twin, she knew Cersei was very important to him, and he was looking between them with such expectation that she didn’t have it in her to say something that would temper his enthusiasm. 

She’d never been a good actress, though, and Jaime narrowed his eyes at his sister, who was smiling beatifically. 

Some wordless conversation seemed to take place between them. As the moment stretched, Brienne had to look away, feeling like she was intruding. She was relieved when the other students arrived along with their teacher and they could finally enter the classroom.

Only when they were all seated around the piano, her eyes sought Jaime's again, hoping to be reassured by one of his insouciant grins or winks. 

Instead, she found him staring through one the rain splattered windows, lost in thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite everything, composition class turned out to be quite an experience, indeed. 

Some students played their own compositions, which were discussed afterwards. Others performed duets, or short exercises on harmony. 

And then, unexpectedly, Mr Tarly called Jaime and her to the piano for an 'improvisation exercise'. Brienne suddenly felt almost nauseous. She simply wasn't on the same level as the others – how could she be expected to –

“Relax. Miss Tarth, is it?” Mr Tarly smiled reassuringly. “It's just an exercise. Mr Lannister will start with an easy baseline,” he explained. “And you will play the melody. Just – try to go with the flow.”

Brienne's heart was beating loudly when she put her fingers on the keys. 

Jaime looked at her questioningly and at her nod, he started playing, slowly. She hesitantly followed, but once she actually started listening to the notes, she found she got the hang of it soon. She felt exactly where Jaime was going and with each measure, she grew more sure of herself. 

Suddenly, he increased the tempo. Her melody followed immediately, almost effortlessly. It felt wonderful and strange at the same time – it seemed like they were in their own bubble, completely in sync. 

She could faintly hear the mumbling of the other students, but nothing mattered at this moment – it was just her and Jaime and their music. There was no audience, no rain, no Cersei, there was just _this_. 

When they ended in complete harmony and lifted their hands from the keys at the exact same moment, the other students started clapping. Brienne hardly even noticed them, though. Her eyes sought Jaime's, and when they met, his gaze was blazing. 

“Well,” Mr Tarly interrupted them. “If this is what you can do right now, Brienne, I'm very much looking forward to having you in my class next year.” 

Brienne looked around her. Jaime seemed to be in a haze, while Mr Tarly was positively beaming. The other students seemed impressed, as well. 

Then her eyes met Cersei's. She was looking livid. 

***

“Did you feel that, Jaime?” Brienne exclaimed, practically bouncing on her way back through the conservatory. “Did you _feel_ that?”

“I did, wench.” Jaime said, not sounding very enthusiastic. 

Brienne frowned. “What's wrong? That was bloody brilliant!”

“It was,” Jaime agreed flatly, looking out over the small passage that led to the bicycle shed. “It has stopped raining.”

Yes, she could see that. 

“Lannister.” When they'd reached the shed, Brienne turned to face him. “You're ruining my moment, here.”

“I'm sorry.” Jaime smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. “I'm... happy that you liked it so much.”

“ _Liked_ it? I loved it!” Brienne was practically glowing. “Composition class. Is it always like that?” she asked, honestly curious. 

Jaime let out an exasperated laugh. “No, wench. No, it's not always like _that_.” He closed his eyes briefly and for a moment, he looked like he was in pain. 

Brienne's enthusiasm was gone in a flash. She'd seen Jaime angry and happy, arrogant and gentle, but he'd always been blatantly open about what he was feeling. 

_This_ Jaime, though, she didn't know how to handle. 

“Hey.” she said softly.“You're scaring me. What's going on with you?” She tentatively put her hand on his shoulder. 

Jaime's eyes flew open at the touch. The look in them caused a shiver down Brienne's spine. Gone was the flatness, replaced by an intense determination, like he'd made his decision and nothing was going to keep him from it. 

“Jaime?” she asked, her voice quivering. 

“I _felt_ it, alright?” He stepped closer to her. Much closer, until his lips were almost touching hers. “Do you feel _that_ , Brienne?” he whispered, his voice rough. 

Her heart started hammering in her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but then he closed the little distance there was between them, and he kissed her. 

For a moment, Brienne just stood there, struck by the feeling of his lips against hers, of the stubble of his beard against her cheek, of his scent enveloping her. Then she slowly, hesitantly, kissed him back. 

Yes, she felt _that_ , too. 

The next moment, Jaime drew away and she felt acutely bereft. There was a haunted look in his eyes that she couldn't place. 

“I–" He sounded hoarse. “I should get you home,” he uttered. 

Brienne was too startled to protest. She unfastened her bike from the rack on autopilot and watched Jaime as he managed to fold it into the trunk of his car with some effort, getting drenched in the process, as it had started raining again. 

They drove home in utter silence. 

Brienne was dying to ask him what on earth was going on, but she kept silent, as _this_ Jaime seemed utterly unapproachable. 

When they stopped in front of her house, though, she just couldn't help herself. “Do you regret it?” she asked in a soft voice. She was scared as hell of the answer, but she needed to know. 

For a moment, there was only the sound of the rain on the roof of the car. 

Then Jaime's look softened. “Brienne, no. _No_. Please, don't think that.” He turned towards her and his hand reached to touch her cheek. 

Brienne moved away. “Don't.”

“I don't regret anything, but –“ He bit his lip. “I need some time to think, alright?”

Brienne nodded, unbuckling herself. She needed to get out, _now_ , before she was going to do something stupid like cry. 

Jaime hauled her bike out of his trunk and put it in front of the house. When he turned around, he looked crestfallen. “Wench... Just know that I –”

“ _Don't_.” Brienne repeated. She fastened her bike and went inside without looking back at him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will take some time - real life, you know. But to make up for that, here's a very, _very_ long chapter. I hope you enjoy!

As Brienne woke up the next day, she felt elated. She sleepily remembered how ecstatic she'd felt when playing in composition class, and then later when Jaime had –

 _Jaime_. 

Reality came rushing back. She'd known Jaime to be unpredictable, but this – he'd been weird ever since they'd played together. No, she suddenly realized. That wasn't true. He'd been strange ever since his sister had come into the picture. 

_Cersei_. This had something to do with Cersei, Brienne was sure of that. She rolled onto her right side and put the sheets up to her chin. 

Images flew to her mind unbidden. Cersei's degrading look. Jaime telling her how ugly she was, all those months ago. The look Jaime and his twin had exchanged in the hallway. 

Was she just a joke to them? Were they laughing behind her back? Was that why he'd kissed her, to make fun of _Brienne the beauty_ , who'd been pining for Jaime Lannister ever since she'd set foot in the conservatory? 

No, that wasn't fair. She rolled over to her left side, trying to shake the images from her mind. 

She _trusted_ Jaime. Yes, he'd been weird, but his kiss had seemed sincere, and what she'd interpreted as rejection afterwards, had probably more to do with his strange state than with the actual kiss. 

_Or maybe he'd been too much of a coward to just say out loud that he didn't want you after all_ , a treacherous voice in her head offered. 

“No,” Brienne said out loud, rolling onto her back. Jaime was many things, but not a coward, not by far. 

She considered Jaime her friend – for quite some time now, if she were honest. And if anything, she was loyal to her friends. If a friend wasn't allowed to freak out from time to time without the other doubting him, then what did that friendship mean? 

So as much as she felt like laying in until noon and bawling her eyes out, she forced herself to get out of bed and shove a cracker down her throat. 

Afterwards, she went back upstairs and sat down at the piano. Playing would ease her mind. It always did.

There was a rub, though. These days, Brienne found she could hardly touch a key without thinking about Jaime. 

***

The next days were hard on Brienne. She dreamt about Jaime – or more accurately, Jaime and Cersei – often, and she was counting the days until the next Friday. Whether it'd be good or bad, she'd finally get some clarity, she hoped. 

On Wednesday afternoon Brienne was dutifully doing her homework, when she suddenly registered the sound of the doorbell. For a moment her heart leapt up – but no, Jaime wouldn't. 

Next, there was a knock on the door of her room. “Yes?”

“There's someone here to see you,” she heard her father say. “Jaime Lannister, he says. Should I let him up?”

Her breathing accelerated. _Or he would_. 

“Yes,” she croaked, quickly scanning her room. Why hadn't she made her bed that morning? And why hadn't she cared to bring all the used tea mugs downstairs? 

Before she could do anything about it, though, Jaime's head peaked around the door jamb. “Ah, wench. Can I come in?”

He didn't await her answer before doing so, promptly sitting down on her bed and keenly taking in his surroundings. Brienne shouldn't have been surprised, really. Of course Jaime would come waltzing in here like he owned the place.

He looked from the mugs on her desk to her face. “I missed you,” he stated. 

Brienne blinked. Of all the things she'd imagined him saying, that one hadn't even made it to the list.

He grinned. “Really, you ought to give me your phone number. So I can start sending you sappy messages, you know.”

Ah, _a joke_. She should've known. The idea was so preposterous, though, that Brienne snickered despite herself. It was one of the things she liked about him – he had the ability to always make her smile. 

Right now was not the time for joking around though, and she willed herself to get a grip. “Don't _do_ that, please.”

Jaime cocked his head. “Do what?” he asked, all innocence. 

“Act like there's nothing wrong,” she insisted. 

“Wrong?” His eyes pierced hers. “What's wrong, then?”

 _For the love of –_ Did she really have to spill it out for him? And then it dawned on her. He was actually asking her _what was wrong_. He genuinely didn't know whether she was offended by his strange behaviour, or by him kissing her. 

Brienne was nothing if not honest. “I liked it when you kissed me,” she said bluntly, ignoring the blush creeping up her cheeks. “But most people don't exactly go around kissing someone completely out of the blue and then simply walk away without an explanation, you know?”

“Well, I'm not like most people,” Jaime tried to sound light, but his relieved expression gave him away. 

“No, you're not,” Brienne had to give him that, at least. “But this – it had something to do with your sister, right?” she asked in a soft voice. 

At the mention of Cersei, Jaime's face clouded over. 

_So she'd been right_. “Is it...” she said hesitantly, trying to choose her words carefully. “Is it because she doesn't like me?”

“She doesn't like anyone,” Jaime shot back immediately. “Don't take it personal.” There was an edge to his voice. 

Brienne just looked at him. If he was ready to tell her, he would, if not – then pressing the issue would probably lead to nothing. 

Jaime was silent for quite some time, fumbling with the sheets on her bed. Then he looked up at her, his green eyes earnest. 

“It's always been her and me, you know.” He swallowed. “I tried a couple of times, with other girls, but she – always drove them away. And I never had the guts to –” He voice broke. 

“Jaime,” Brienne started, but he silenced her with a gesture. 

“And then I met _you_. You're the complete opposite of her, and yet, I felt... drawn to you. And when were playing together, Brienne, gods –" he closed his eyes, briefly. 

When he opened them, Brienne could only see pain. “I'm so scared, wench. Scared that she'll find a way to ruin this. And –" he swallowed thickly. “And I'm scared that if she _doesn't_ , this will ruin my relationship with _her_.”

He looked so vulnerable at that point, as if he were waiting for her to judge him. “I know she's not the easiest person,” he said, sounding sad. “But she's my twin. I love her.”

Brienne thought about it for a moment. How wonderful it must be to have someone like that, to love and be loved back by, unconditionally. _Wonderful, and suffocating at the same time_. 

When she told him as much, she thought she could see tears welling up in his eyes. “No one has ever understood. No one," he said, almost in wonder. 

A that point, she couldn't help herself anymore. She stood up and crossed the room to sit beside him, wrapping her arms around him in comfort. His body curved into hers automatically. 

“No one without a twin could possibly understand that, Jaime,” she mumbled. “And you can't blame them for that. But – I'm willing to try.”

Jaime gently loosened himself from her embrace at that. “You are?” 

Brienne nodded, searching his face. “Unless you're telling me... that you can't. Do this, I mean. I'd understand.”

Jaime let out a strained laugh. “You sound like you believe I have a choice here." His eyes sought hers. “I can't ignore this, wench. Call me selfish, but I _want_ –” he hesitated for a moment. “I want this,” he finished decidedly. 

_I want you_ , they both heard, and suddenly the tension in the air became almost palpable. 

“I want this, too,” Brienne said. It was strange, saying it out loud. 

Jaime was looking at her intently while he leaned in, slowly and deliberately, giving her every opportunity to shove him away. 

Her stomach fluttered. 

He kissed her, and this time it was completely different. Maybe it was because his intentions were very clear this time. Or maybe it was simply the fact that he was sitting here, in her room, on her bed. It seemed more _real_ , this time. 

She opened her mouth as the kiss grew more heated, and when she felt the brush of his tongue against hers, she simply melted into him. 

It was perfect. The few kisses she'd given in her life had been clumsy at best, but kissing Jaime turned out to be not unlike playing the piano with him. She instinctively felt where he was going and how she should respond to him. 

She had no idea how it happened, but she ended up lying down on the bed with Jaime half on top of her, his hand splayed out on her belly. His fingers were stroking the small stripe of skin where her sweater had ridden up and she felt lightheaded all of a sudden. 

“You like that?” Jaime whispered against her lips. The roughness in his voice caused a shiver down her spine. 

“Yes,” she breathed. 

He was watching her carefully as his hand started travelling up. Brienne felt slightly self-conscious, as she suddenly realized she wasn't wearing a bra, but Jaime didn't seem to mind - quite the contrary, in fact. She felt him grin against her lips as his hand travelled even higher. 

When he started stroking the sensitive skin of her breast, all coherent thought evaporated from her mind. She felt a sharp jolt of pleasure course through her body. 

Jaime –" she gasped. 

“Alright?” he asked. His hand stilled and for a moment she thought he was teasing her. “I can stop, if you want. If it's too –" 

“No.” she interrupted him. Her hands came up to tangle in his hair. “Don't stop,” she said adamantly, pulling him in to kiss her again. 

It was like a dam burst inside of Jaime. His kisses became almost feverish and his hands – gods, those hands she'd watched over and over while he was playing – were making her body sing. 

When he removed them, she all but whimpered at the loss, but as he started tugging at the hem of her sweater, she realized his intentions. She sat up, making it easier for him, and he pulled her sweater up over her head. 

For a moment, he just looked at her and Brienne tried not to squirm under his burning stare. 

The next, he was kissing her again. It was soft this time, almost reverent. He pulled her back down on the bed with him, gently lowering himself on top of her. 

In this position, she became acutely aware of the fact that he wasn't unaffected by her. It made her feel uncharacteristically sexy and -

And then her father shouted something from downstairs, putting an abrupt halt to their make out session. 

*** 

Jaime cursed when Brienne wrenched her lips from his and squirmed to get out from under him. 

“Let go, Lannister,” she hissed, reaching for her discarded sweater. “I have to answer him or he’ll come up.” _That_ seemed to do the trick, as Jaime reluctantly let go of her. 

Brienne opened the door of her room. “What did you say, dad?” 

“Will Jaime be staying for dinner?” her father repeated. 

She turned around and looked at  Jaime expectantly. “Well?”

“Well, what?” Jaime was gazing up at her from the bed, his golden hair sticking in all directions, and Brienne felt her heart swell. 

She couldn't help smiling. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

Jaime’s face lit up. “Actually, yes, I’d like that. The food at the student restaurant sucks, you know.”

“Yes, he will! Thanks!” Brienne shouted. “Well, my dad makes a mean lasagna,” she said to Jaime, closing the door. Before it was completely shut, though, they could clearly hear her father’s voice from downstairs. “Does that mean you’ll stop moping around now?”

“Dad!” she yelled, embarrassed, shutting the door before he could say something else. 

Jaime snickered. “So you were moping around over me?” 

“ _No_ ”, Brienne protested weakly. She held out her hand and tried to change the subject. “Come on, let’s go and try that lasagna.”

Jaime took her hand and didn’t let go of it while they were going downstairs. “You _were_ moping, Brienne.” She could practically hear him grin. 

But as he squeezed her hand and pressed a kiss into her hair before they entered the kitchen, she decided to let it go, for now. 


	7. Chapter 7

_Never again_ , Brienne thought. Somewhere during the last week before the Christmas holidays, it had started snowing heavily and that Friday, she had seen no other option than to take the bus to the conservatory. 

The bus which was currently stuck in traffic. 

She wiped away the condensation from the window with her mitten and stared dejectedly at the stationary cars surrounding them. 

“Oh, come on,” she mumbled five minutes later, pulling out her phone to check the time and send a text to Jaime. She hated being late, especially when it meant there would be less time to play the piano. Well, that, _and_ less time with Jaime. 

The fact that the bus was stuffed with people returning from their late Christmas shopping while Brienne still didn't have the faintest idea about what to get Jaime, wasn't helping, either. 

It was already half past six when finally, _finally_ , the bus halted in front of the conservatory. Brienne got out as fast as she could, almost knocking down an old lady which was hidden by a large plush bear, in the process. 

She hurried inside and upstairs, tripping over her own feet – those _stupid_ stairs again –, and barged into the classroom. 

“I'm sorry,” she panted. “Sorry I'm late.” 

Jaime's eyes flew towards her and his look could only be described as fond. 

“It's quite alright, Brienne,” Mrs Stark assured her. “In this weather...” Her voice trailed off. “Besides, you're just in time for my big announcement,” she continued, her lips curving into an anticipating smile. 

“Announcement?” Brienne asked, removing her heavy coat and mittens. 

Jaime was looking curious, as well, and his eyes widened slightly as Mrs Stark turned towards him. 

“Well. Mr Lannister, in the light of your recent – and outstanding – improvement, I want to propose to enlist you in the King Aegon International Piano Competition for next year.” She was looking at him expectantly. 

Brienne gasped. The _Aegon_? It was the most prestigious piano competition in the whole country! Playing in the finals practically guaranteed a thriving career as a concert pianist; winning it – well, winning the Aegon was every pianist's dream. 

Jaime gazed at Mrs Stark, opening his mouth and then closing it again. 

When he finally uttered a disbelieving “ _Me?_ ", Brienne chuckled. She'd _never_ seen Jaime reduced to monosyllables. “Of course it's you, you idiot,” she blurted. 

Mrs Stark looked from Brienne to Jaime, an amused look on her face. “Miss Tarth is quite right, Mr Lannister,” she said. “You've made enormous progress over the last couple of months, and I truly believe you have a real chance in the competition.”

As she started going into the specifics, Jaime simply nodded from time to time, seemingly dazed. But when his eyes met Brienne's after some time, she could see her own joy and pride mirrored in them. 

***

The moment the classroom door had closed behind them, Jaime wrapped his arms around her. “Did you hear that, Brienne?” He was positively ecstatic. “Do you know what this _means_?”

Brienne couldn't help laughing at his enthusiasm. “Yes, Jaime.”

She unwrapped herself partly from the embrace so that she could look him in the eye. “You're going to be in the Aegon.” She grinned broadly at him, for once not caring about hiding her not so perfect teeth. “You're going to be in the _fucking_ Aegon.”

Jaime's smile was so wide it was almost sharklike. “I can't believe this. Wench, this changes – well, everything. My career –”

Brienne nodded, eyes sparkling. “You've earned it, Jaime. Like Mrs Stark said, you're _that_ good.”

“And I have _you_ to thank for that,” Jaime said, pulling her close so that his forehead was resting against hers. 

“Rubbish.” Brienne blushed. “I just –"

Jaime silenced her with a quick kiss. “Don't do that. Don't put yourself down.” 

When she didn't answer immediately, he looked at her searchingly. “ _You_ were the one who criticized the way I was playing from the day we met. If I recall correctly, you even called me a machine at some point.” His mouth quirked up at the memory. 

“And then it was _you_ who showed me how I could play in a different manner.” Jaime's hands came up to stroke her cheeks. “Brienne, I couldn't have done this without you.”

Brienne felt a warm glow spreading through her body and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. 

“Good.” The smile returned to Jaime's face. “Now, let's go celebrate, alright?”

_Celebrate?_

Brienne looked puzzled. “You have another class to go to, remember?”

Jaime's grin was downright mischievous. “I'll skip it. How many times in a lifetime does one get Brienne Tarth as his girlfriend _and_ a ticket to the Aegon in just a few weeks' time? So yes, I'm quite certain this calls for a celebration, my wench.”

His enthusiasm was contagious, really. “Alright. Let's go celebrate,” she agreed, feeling bold all of a sudden. “So what did you have in mind, Lannister?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Jaime laughed out loud in delight, pulling her even closer. “Are you _flirting_ with me, Brienne?” 

He seemed to like the idea, as his lips closed over hers before she could answer him. Then he was kissing her, thoroughly. 

“Or you could celebrate with _me_ , you know,” a voice behind them sounded. 

***

Their heads whipped around simultaneously. 

Cersei was striding gracefully towards them through the hallway and for a moment she reminded Brienne of the Snow Queen, what with her long, white winter coat. "I hear congratulations are in order, brother.” Cersei made quite the show of kissing Jaime on the cheek. 

It made Brienne feel slightly queasy, as the implication was quite clear. _He's mine_. 

Jaime, for his part, was looking uneasy. “How long have you been standing there?” he inquired, and then it hit Brienne. _He never told Cersei about them._

“Oh, long enough.” Cersei smiled. “Long enough to finally understand some things I've been wondering about.” 

Jaime cocked his head, wary all of a sudden. 

“Jaime,” Cersei sighed, oozing compassion. “Is that what this is? You're fucking her because you think you _owe_ her something? Because I can tell you –"

“No,” Jaime snapped. “It's not like that, at all.”

“No?” The corner of Cersei's mouth twitched. “What is it then? Her good looks, maybe?”

Brienne's queasiness increased. 

She could feel Jaime start to tremble all over. “Cersei, _don't_ ,” he said through gritted teeth. “You don't know what you're talking about.”

“Explain to me, then.” Gone was the smile, gone was the compassion. “Explain why you would stoop this low. You _are_ fucking this cow, are you?”

Jaime was positively seething. “Stop it!” he hissed.”Don't you _dare_ –"

“And what are you going to do, dear brother?” Cersei said coolly. The challenge hung heavily in the air. 

“I'll tell you the thruth, _sis_.” Jaime took Brienne' hand in his and she could literally feel him relax, growing more secure. “I'm with Brienne, now. Not because I owe her something, but because I'm falling for her.”

For the first time, Brienne saw something like fear flicker in Cersei's eyes. 

“You're joking. Tell me you're joking,” Cersei whispered. 

“To me, Brienne is the most beautiful person I've ever met. Inside _and_ out.” Jaime continued, his voice desperate. “Why can't you see that? Why can't you be hap-"

Cersei stepped closer to them and slapped him in the face, hard. “Liar!”

He hardly flinched, and Brienne suddenly wondered how many of those he'd had to endure in the past. 

“You're a liar,” Cersei repeated. “We are one person, remember? There's no room for anyone else, let alone some beast –“

“I said, _stop it_ ,” Jaime all but yelled. “I'm in love with her, and you'll never, ever, speak about her that way again, do you understand that?”

Cersei looked up at him, and once again, Brienne thought she could see them engage in a silent conversation. 

“You told me we were the only ones who matter.” Tears started forming in Cersei's eyes. “The only ones in this world.”

“Cersei..." Jaime's voice softened. 

“You said that people would try to tear us apart,” she continued, a tear rolling down her cheek. “And that you would never let them. And now –"

Jaime let out strange sound, almost a sob, and Brienne suddenly felt like she shouldn't be here, watching this exchange. She took a careful step back, but Jaime's grip on her hand only tightened. 

He looked at her briefly, imploringly, before turning towards Cersei once again. “Cersei, we were children. Surely you must've known –" he swallowed thickly. “Please, give me this chance to be happy. You too, you will –"

“NO!” Cersei cried hysterically. “You fucking _liar_!” She turned and started making her way to the conservatory's exit. 

Jaime looked at Brienne. “I need to –" She nodded and the next moment he was gone. 

***

Brienne's heart was thumping in her chest and for a moment, she didn't know what to do. Jaime'd said he'd drive her home, but she knew that what he needed, was time with Cersei. 

She was feeling upset, and alone, and she hated the idea of having to get back on the bus, but right now, she had to give him this. She owed him that much. So she put on her coat and mittens and went on her way, ignoring the lump in her throat. 

She was almost at the bus stop when suddenly the yelling reached her. 

When she turned around, she saw Jaime and Cersei arguing nearby. She couldn't understand what they were saying, but they were gesticulating heavily, and all of a sudden she saw Cersei running onto the street. 

Cersei never saw the SUV coming. 

Jaime did, though. In a movement that seemed faster than light, he yanked her back onto the pavement, his body swaying in the process. 

A scream pierced the night air as Jaime's right side took the full brunt of the impact - Brienne didn't know whether it was hers or Jaime's. Maybe it was Cersei's. 

There was a loud bang, and then – silence.


	8. Chapter 8

When Brienne started running, she felt as if she were moving in slow motion. She needed to get to Jaime, _now_. Every second counted, and still it seemed to take minutes before she'd crossed the little distance between them. 

She fell on her knees beside his form. Blood was trickling down his face and he was still. _So still._

“Call an ambulance!” she yelled at Cersei, who was standing motionless on the pavement. “Jaime.” She stroked his cheek, carefully. “Jaime!” 

He opened his eyes. _Thank the gods._ “Jaime, I'm here.” She tried to sound reassuring, controlling the urge to hyperventilate. 

When Jaime tried to reach for her, she put her hand on his shoulder. “Don't,” she said, her voice trembling despite her effort. “You were in a car accident, Jaime. You shouldn't move.” 

From the corner of her eyes she looked at Cersei, who was still standing there, seemingly paralyzed. “Call a bloody ambulance!” she repeated, desperately. Cersei made no movement at all, but then Brienne saw a woman passing by reach for her phone hastily. Her eyes flew back to Jaime.

There was blood, so much blood. The snow was turning red where his right hand was lying – or what was left of it. She tore her eyes away, focusing on his face. “It'll be alright soon, Jaime. The ambulance is coming.”

“Cersei?” he rasped. 

Brienne tried to smile. “She's unharmed, Jaime. She's standing right over there, you know." _Being bloody useless_. “You saved her, Jaime.”

Jaime grimaced. “So cold, Brienne.” 

“I know,” she answered, immediately taking off her coat and draping it over him. “I know.” She could hear the sirens of an ambulance nearby. 

“So... cold,” Jaime repeated with difficulty. His face was looking ashen and his eyes started drooping. 

“No!” Brienne said pleadingly. “Jaime, _no_ , stay with me.” She took his left hand in hers. “It won't be long now, I promise.”

When she got no response, she started babbling. “Jaime, look at me. Come back to me, Jaime, _dammit!_ You're going to be alright, you know." She gently ran her shaky fingers over his hair, panic rising in her chest when the tips came back red. "You're going to get through this, Lannister, because I can't do it without you, do you realize that?”

She kept on talking until, at last, a paramedic arrived and pried her hand away from Jaime's. "Are you related?" he asked in a gentle voice. Brienne shook her head, watching as two other paramedics quickly moved Jaime onto a stretcher and hooked his good arm to an IV. 

"No, she's not." Cersei seemed to have gotten out of her stupor, as she approached them swiftly. "I'm his sister."

"Then you may accompany your brother in the ambulance." The paramedic gestured for her to follow him, throwing a sympathetic look towards Brienne. "Will she -" 

"No, she won't," Cersei snapped without even looking back. "She's done enough."

Only after Jaime's still form was loaded into the ambulance and they'd taken off with blaring sirens, did Brienne allow herself to fall apart. Still on her knees, she started crying uncontrollably until her vision blurred.

She could still see the large, red stain in the snow, though.

***

When Brienne woke up, she felt a pounding headache. _A car accident_. There'd been a car accident, that much she remembered. She opened her eyes - with difficulty, as they appeared to be all swollen - and saw her dad sitting on her bed. For a moment she thought that it was her who'd been in the accident, but then reality came crashing down on her. 

"How is he?" she whispered.

"Brienne." her father looked relieved. "You're awake."

"How _is_ he, dad?" she insisted, sitting up. 

She saw him swallow as he took her hand in his. That couldn't be a good sign. "Brienne," he said, hesitating. 

"Tell me. Please."

"I just got off the phone with your teacher. He's... he was lucky to survive, I guess."

 _He's alive._ Brienne breathed a sigh of relief. 

"He's severely injured, though," her father continued. "His leg is broken in two places. He has a minor concussion, and some serious cuts and bruises. But it'll heal." He looked away and Brienne knew him well enough to know that he wasn't telling her everything. 

"And his hand?" she asked, trying hard not to recall what it had looked like. 

"It's... bad, darling," her dad reluctantly admitted. "One of the wing mirrors -" his voice trailed away and he cleared his throat. "There's serious nerve damage. The doctors - they're not sure they can repair it. The surgery's planned for tomorrow afternoon."

Brienne nodded, feeling tears form in her eyes again as she processed the information. "And you say he's lucky."

Her dad looked up at her in surprise. "He could've been dead, Brienne."

"You don't know him." She wiped away a tear that ran down her cheek. "You don't know what playing _means_ to him."

"I know _you_ ," her father countered. "So I think I have a fair idea." Then his voice softened as he put his arms around her. "I'm so sorry, darling."

They stayed like that for a while, until Brienne pulled away. "What happened? I mean, afterwards. How did I get here?"

"Your teacher found you on the street, freezing, and she brought you home. Thanks the gods." Her dad was looking at her intently. "And I could ask you the same question. What happened, Brienne? What was Jaime doing on that street in the first place? Were you two having a fight?"

Brienne shook her head, once again struggling against the tears that were threatening to overwhelm her. When she finally started talking, she found she couldn't stop and she told him everything. Jaime. The Aegon. Cersei. The crash. His _hand_. She'd thought it would make her feel better, but as it turned out, it didn't. 

_If only she could just forget it ever happened_.

"I think I want to... try and sleep some more, dad."

Her father looked at her momentarily, worry clear on his face, but he nodded acquiescently and left the room. "I'll bring up some food, later on," he said before closing the door. 

***

The rest of the weekend was hell for Brienne. She drifted in and out of strange dreams that she couldn't remember afterwards - there was blood, though. There always was blood - and flat out refused to eat or get dressed. She ignored her father's worried requests, and on Monday, she heard him call her school to inform them she was sick.

That evening, though, she took a bath and brushed her teeth. She put on her most comfortable jogging pants on autopilot. Then she went downstairs. 24 hours had passed since the surgery; surely, there had to be some news.

She went into her father's study, picked up the phone and called Mrs Stark. "It's Brienne." Her voice sounded strange even to herself. "Have you... heard anything?" 

From the corner of her eye, she saw her dad coming in. As it was, she already had difficulty concentrating on what Mrs Stark was telling her, so she didn't acknowledge him. "What did you say?"

Only some bits reached her. _More severe than expected._

__

__

_Best possible option._

And then, _amputation_.

The phone dropped from Brienne's hand as she slumped down.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, I completely got stuck on this one! But here it is. :)

Brienne stood in front of the institution Mrs Stark had directed her to, staring at the ugly black letters above the entrance. 'National Rehabilitation Center', they read. 

It had been ten days after the accident had happened, when somewhere during the umpteenth sleepless night, she'd felt something click inside her head - almost literally. She was not the victim here, she realized. Jaime was, and if she wanted to be there for him, she simply couldn't be a wreck herself. 

It'd been crystal clear to her, all of a sudden. _She needed to be strong, if she was going to help Jaime get through this_. She'd made a pledge to herself, and instantly felt better. She remembered how relieved her father had been when, the next morning, she had arrived at breakfast fully clothed and announced that she was going back to school. 

Now that she was actually standing here, she didn't feel so bold anymore. Her determination didn't falter, though. She'd known it wouldn't be easy. 

From the corner of her eyes, she saw a man passing her on his way out. His eyes caught hers inadvertently, and she was struck by how _green_ they were, reminding her of – could it be?

“Are you Jaime's father?” she asked, hesitantly. 

The man turned around and scrutinized her for a long moment. “You're Jaime's girl,” he said slowly. “You have a lot of nerve, coming here.”

_Of course. Of course Cersei would've told her family that this was _her_ doing._

The man suddenly laughed. “Don't look so scared, girl. I admire people who have the guts to face the consequences of what they've done, I must say.”

Brienne bristled at the injustice of his words. “Sir, I can assure you it was an accident. I didn't _do_ anything.”

The laughter died. “I know my daughter very well,” Jaime's father offered. “Well enough to know that she's not above twisting the truth to her advantage.” He cocked his head. “Then again, I don't know you at all, do I?”

“I'm not in the mood for playing games, Sir,” Brienne said evenly. He might be Jaime's father, but he was getting on her nerves, which were already jittery. “I'm here because I care about Jaime.”

While she'd been expecting a rebuke, he regarded her with something akin to respect in his eyes. “I can see that.” 

When he didn't continue, Brienne started walking towards the entrance. 

“Brienne.” _So he'd known her name from the beginning. Figures._

She turned around, grudgingly, and suddenly saw him for what he was: a tired, sad old man. “I can't seem to reach him, these days. He's – not doing well, girl. I truly hope _you_ can help him.”

Brienne felt resolve harden in her. “I will,” she said decidedly. She offered him a small smile, before turning away from him, towards the center. Towards Jaime. 

***

When Brienne carefully entered the room the receptionist had guided her to, Jaime was lying down on the bed, eyes closed. He was thinner than she remembered, looking almost... frail. It was a word she'd never thought she would one day associate with Jaime. 

Her eyes travelled down to his arms unwittingly. She'd known what to expect, but still it was different to actually see it. To see the empty space where his hand had been, to see his arm just – end, in a cluster of white bandages. 

“Don't. Don't – _look_ at it." 

She jumped at the sound of Jaime's voice, her eyes flying up to his face. He was seething, but she refused to look away. In her head, she'd imagined about ten different ways this meeting would go, and Jaime'd been angry more often than not in her scenarios. 

She smiled tentatively. “Jaime. I'm so sorry I didn't come to see you earlier. I needed to –" 

“I didn't _want_ you to come earlier,” Jaime cut her off harshly. “I didn't want you to come, period. Leave, Brienne.” 

Brienne's smile faded. “You're blaming me, then. For what happened. You, too.” 

“I'm not,” he snapped, his green eyes finding hers. There was an anger in them she'd never seen before. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That's what you came here for, no? Is your oh-so-important conscience cleared now?”

“What?” Brienne heard her own voice tremble with indignation. “No! I'm here because I wanted to see you! I've been worried sick ever since it happened.“

Jaime let out a bitter laugh. “Well, you've seen me now. You can stop worrying, alright? Please, go.” He turned his head towards the window, away from her. 

“But I thought we were –” Brienne didn't understand. 

“Yes, we _were_ ,” Jaime interrupted. “Past tense.” 

“But – why?” Brienne pressed. “We're... good together, no?”

Jaime made a sudden movement to sit up, but then he hissed in pain and fell back onto the pillow.

Brienne was with him in a second. “Don't move,” she said, not trying to hide the anxiety in her voice. “Just- stay still. I'll go, if that's what you want.” Her hand came up to cradle his cheek instinctively, but she stopped herself, unsure of her welcome. 

His eyes followed the movement before meeting hers. He was looking utterly devastated. “Look at me now, Brienne,” he whispered. “I'm an abomination. Cersei, she –”

“I'm not Cersei,” Brienne retorted, trying to quench the anger she felt towards his damned sister. “I'm not her and you're still _you_. I don't think any less of you, now that –“ 

“Now that there actually _is_ less of me?” He snorted. “I'm not stupid, wench. I'm well aware of the consequences of –“ he nodded vaguely in the direction of his right arm. 

_So he can't even look at it._

Before Brienne could even begin to think about an answer, he continued. “It's all over, Brienne. My career. You and me.”

“Why?” Brienne looked at him sharply. “Why should you and I be over because you lost your hand?” Jaime winced and Brienne felt instanteneously guilty. It had been time to address the elephant in the room, though, she felt, if she wanted some real answers.

“Please, just – don't,” Jaime croaked. “I'm trying to make this easier for us, you know?”

Brienne huffed. “ _Easier?_ ”

“You're so bloody young. And you're so bloody... _talented_. Next year, you'll start your education for real, and you'll – improve even more, week after week. And I want you to.” Jaime's eyes grew moist and this time her palm actually touched his cheek, trying to comfort him. 

“Just imagine it, wench,” he continued, turning into the touch unconsciously. “I'd be sitting on the sidelines, unable to do anything but watch you get better. You'd get bored of me pretty soon, I imagine.”

“And what if I wouldn't?” she challenged, gently stroking her thumb. “It seems unlikely to me.”

“Even then.” There was an edge to his voice all of a sudden. “Do you really think I want to see you achieve all the things that _I_ was working towards? You think I want to see you thrive, surrounded by your equally talented colleagues? I'll come to hate you for it, Brienne.”

“But –"

“ _No_! I'm fully aware of who I am,” Jaime all but shouted. Brienne felt her hand getting wet and she realized with a pang that he was actually crying. “I couldn't – bear it. I wish I were less selfish, but –” 

“By the gods, that's not being selfish! That's being _human_.” Brienne finally dared to wrap her arms around him, and held him as his shoulders started shaking against her. “Listen to me, Jaime,” she whispered in his ear. “I'm not giving up on you, do you understand? I get what you're saying, but I'll find a way. It'll be alright.”

“I lost my _hand_.” Jaime sounded defeated. “I'm a pianist with _one hand_ , for fuck's sake. It'll never be alright again.” 

As Jaime fell to pieces in her arms, Brienne simply held him, stroking his dirty hair and looking outside through the window. 

_One hand._

Suddenly, an idea started forming in the back her mind. 

_One hand._ “I'll find a way, Jaime,” she repeated, and this time, her words were full of promise instead of some vague reassurance. She carefully strengthened her grip, embracing him tightly. "Trust me on this one."


	10. Chapter 10

As January became February and then March, Brienne kept on visiting Jaime regularly, usually twice a week. He'd changed, though. 

He was in a bad mood more often than not those days, especially when he'd just come back from a training session with his therapist. He was slowly learning to walk again, but he was still confined to a wheelchair, which led to countless rants about the incapability of the man. 

Brienne knew that he was also learning to execute simple actions with only his left hand, but she quickly learned to never ask about those particular sessions. 

Things had changed between them, too. Brienne could live with the fact that he was nowadays careful not to touch her, but she was missing the easy banter between them. There were also days when he was being downright impossible and acting so rudely towards her, that she was sorely tempted to just – leave, and never come back. 

Always, she would remember the pledge she'd made. She would look at him, seeing the emptiness in his eyes, and promise herself once again that she was going to help him. 

When she was not with Jaime, she was either playing the piano – careful to never talk to him about the progress she was making – or investigating. She spent hours in front of her laptop, studiously making notes. She consulted Mrs Stark regularly during her quest, as well as several other piano teachers. She made appointments with people who'd been in a similar situation and who were willing to talk to her about their feelings and experiences. 

And then, one day, she realized she had the answer. 

Whether Jaime would think so, too, was a completely different matter. 

***

During one of the first warm spring days at the end of March, Brienne finally mustered up the courage to bring up the subject. 

They'd just made a walk through the Center's gardens – or, more accurately, Jaime had walked about 200 feet on his crutches and when he'd become too tired, Brienne had pushed his chair for the remainder of the time. He was in one of his moods and he hadn't said a word to her the whole afternoon. All in all it wasn't a great moment to spring this on him, Brienne was fully aware of that, but then again, there just never seemed to be a good moment with Jaime anymore. 

When she looked at him, he seemed to be lost in his own head as usual, and she took the opportunity to examine him. It struck her how different he was looking these days. He wasn't eating well, up to the point where his face was looking gaunt - a fact that could easily be overlooked, what with the beard he'd been growing the last couple of months. She'd always assumed that shaving left-handed was simply too difficult for him, but right now, as she scrutinzed the long greasy bangs tucked behind his ears, she realized that wasn't it, at all. He'd simply stopped caring. 

_And that's why she needed to do this_ , she told herself. _He was never going to get out of this if he didn't feel like he had any perspective._

As they sat down, she on one of the benches and he in his chair in front of her, she decided it was time. “Jaime?”

He didn't even look up. 

“Jaime," she pressed. "I need to talk to you about something important. Please.”

“Hm.” It was probably the most enthusiasm she was going to get from him, she realized, and so she dug in. 

“I never gave you your Christmas present, did I?” She forced a smile he didn't even see, taking a large, rectangular package out of her backpack and putting it in his lap. 

He sighed in disinterest, but he unwrapped it, albeit clumsily. His jaw dropped the moment he realized what it was. “A music sheet book?” Jaime stared at it. "A-" His mouth opened and then closed again, tightening into an angry, thin line. “How _dare_ you?” he bristled. “I can never play again and you're giving me a _fucking_ sheet book?”

 _Gods, no. This wasn't how this was supposed to go. At all._ "No! It's - look at it, Jaime, it's -"

But Jaime didn't look at it, and in a flash she saw him haul the book towards her. Her hands came up in front of her face instinctively. 

The impact never came, though. When she looked up hesitantly and saw the thing had ended up about 7 feet to her right, she felt his heart break for him. In a way, she'd actually prefered it if he'd been able to just throw the book in her face. 

He smacked his hand on the armrest of his chair once, twice, before looking away, trying to hide the tears of frustration that sprang to his eyes. “Take me back inside,” he ordered. 

“Listen to me, Jaime. What I'm trying to tell you is that yes, you _can_ play again. Please, let me explain.” Brienne tried to sound calm, trying to ignore the way her heart was beating rapidly in her chest. 

“Take me back,” he repeated bitterly. This time he actually looked at her and his eyes were blazing. “I know I'm close to an invalid right now, but that doesn't mean you don't get to make decisions for me, do you understand? I want to go back.”

 _This was it_ , Brienne realized. _This was the point where she just had to get through to him, or things would probably never be alright again._

She set her jaw and looked him square in the eyes. “I'm not trying to decide anything for you, Jaime. But I've been doing a lot of research over the last couple of months and I think you need to know that there is a way.”

“Leave it, Brienne!” Jaime shouted. “Stop trying to – _fix_ this, as if –" He shook his head, suddenly looking dead tired. “I want to go inside,” he said, slowly, looking in the vague direction of the Center. “And I can't get myself there. So if you'd just –"

“I will. And I'm sorry, but you're going to have to listen to what I have to say, first,” Brienne said decidedly. _Now or never._ “There's this guy I've been wanting to tell you about. A pianist. His name is Nicholas McCarthy.”

“Oh, yes. Tell me about the brilliant pianist you've come to get to know while I was in here, rotting away. Please, do continue.” His voice was dripping with both sarcasm and defeat. 

“It's not like that!" Brienne took a deep breath, and then another, wiping her hands on her trousers. Anger wouldn't help her get her point across, quite the contrary. “He was born without a right hand, Jaime.”

His eyes flew up to hers, and when no scathing remark came, she counted it a small victory. 

“I know it's different,” she continued. “He never had to deal with the actual loss that you're going through right now, but he's the living example that with determination, it _can_ be done, Jaime. Everyone told him that it was downright impossible, that he had to give up his dream, but in the end he graduated from the Royal College in London, and just a couple of years ago, he actually recorded a solo album.”

Jaime frowned. He was looking intrigued, quite obviously against his will. “What on earth is he playing?”

Brienne sighed, relieved that he finally seemed to be listening. “As it is, there's lots of piano music written for the left hand only. Brahms, Chopin, Prokofiev, Britten, Ravel, Scriabin – the list just goes on and on.”

“Are you sure?” Jaime asked in a soft voice, after he'd taken a moment to digest the information. “I've never heard of it.”

“Neither did I,” Brienne answered. “Not until I did some research and got in touch with Nicholas. But the music's out there, Jaime. In the sheet book I just gave you, for example.”

Jaime's eyes flew to the book that was lying in a crumbled heap on the grass. “I - didn't realize,” he whispered. “I –"

Brienne smiled tentatively. “It was probably not my best idea to bring it up like that.”

The side of his mouth curled up slightly. “No, probably not.” Her eyes met Jaime's and for a moment, she thought she saw a sliver of something that hadn't been there since the accident had happened. _Hope_. 

“It won't be easy, Jaime,” she said, hearing her voice tremble. “Nicholas told me the technique is quite different when you're playing one-handed. But Mrs Stark was willing to meet some of his teachers, and she's quite sure she'll be able to -" She stopped abrupty when she saw Jaime's eyes growing moist. 

“ _You_.” Jaime was looking at her unbelievingly. “You did all this, while I was..."

"Moping?" she suggested. She was trying to sound light-hearted, but the moment the word left her mouth, she was catapulted back in time to that one perfect afternoon at her house, when they'd been so close and the future had seemed so full of possibility. It felt like another lifetime to her, and suddenly she missed him so much it actually hurt, even though he was sitting only a couple of feet away from her. 

As his face fell, she knew he was thinking about that time, as well. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have said that." 

Jaime swallowed thickly, shaking his head. "No, I'm -" He closed his eyes, briefly. “I'm just so tired, Brienne. I'd really like to go back, now.”

“Alright,” Brienne nodded acquiescently. She stood up and picked up the sheet book, gently putting it in his lap. “Let's go.”

Jaime was silent again as they were making their way back, but for once, Brienne didn't mind. From behind his wheelchair, she noticed he was staring down at the book intently, not missing the way his index finger unconsciously started tracing the characters printed on the cover. _Six Etudes for the Left Hand_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nicholas McCarthy's a real person; I got most of my information from https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nicholas_McCarthy_(pianist). 
> 
> The 'Etudes for the Left Hand' are from Camille Saint-Saëns. 
> 
> I wish you all a lovely Christmas time!


	11. Chapter 11

After Brienne had graduated from high school, she'd easily passed the conservatory's entrance exam. Still, as the new academic year started and she was on her way towards her first _official_ lesson, she suddenly found herself feeling apprehensive. 

She didn't know, however, if it was simply the fact that she was on the verge of beginning her education for real, or the fact that she was bound to meet Jaime again. 

_Jaime_. 

She hadn't seen him for quite some time now. When he'd finally been released from the rehabilitation facility, he'd been compelled to move in with his father, as his appartment on the third floor had no elevator and was thus not suitable for someone in a wheelchair. 

She'd visited him there regularly, even though she was always ill at ease when Tywin was around and Jaime was often morose, wrapping himself in silence. 

The day he'd been allowed to trade his chair for crutches, Jaime'd moved back to his own appartment. Brienne had thought this would make things easier for them, but from that day on, she'd hardly heard from him any more. When she called, he never picked up his phone, and if he answered her texts – which he didn't, most of the time – he was brief and impersonal. At some point, she'd simply given up. 

Not on him, _never on him_ , but she'd decided he must be needing space and time and she'd tried her best to respect that. 

_Never mind that it hurt like hell._

Her heart did a little twist as she entered the impressive building and immediately spotted Jaime. He was standing in the hallway, crutchless, scowling at the wretched staircase as if debating whether or not to risk the climb. He didn't seem to notice her presence, so he took a moment to study him. 

He'd changed since the last time she'd seen him. His hair was cropped short, his beard neatly trimmed, and he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt which he would have hated only a couple of months before, as it did nothing to hide the fact that his right arm ended in a stump. His left arm was looking much more muscled than before, a proof that he'd been training intensively. 

“What are you looking at?” 

Brienne jumped when Jaime suddenly turned around and met her gaze, amusement clear in his eyes. 

“Caught you, didn't I?” He grinned in that slightly arrogant way of his, and for a moment, he looked so much like _her_ Jaime that Brienne could almost believe the past 8 months had never happened. 

It was all she could do not to walk up to him and throw her arms around him. Instead, she settled for a simple “Yes”, which was accompanied by a scarlet blush. 

“Care to help me get up there?” Jaime pointed up the stairs and held out his left arm. She approached him and took it, steadying him on the way up. It felt strange, touching him while having to maintain her distance. She felt this childish urge to turn her head towards him and just – _smell_ him, but she didn't dare to act on it, as she had no idea where they were standing, at this point. 

“I'm sorry I've been such a stranger lately,” Jaime offered. “I've been quite busy, you know.”

“I know.” Brienne nodded. Mrs Stark had told her that during the summer, Jaime had been taking lessons from both her and Nicholas' teacher, exploring the manifold of one-hand techniques. She didn't mention the fact that in her opinion, no one could be too _busy_ to even send a text once in a while. 

When they'd almost reached the last step, Jaime gently stopped her and looked at her intently. “You're not angry with me, are you?” 

She must have given something away. “No,” she answered honestly. _Just sad_ , she didn't add, forcing a smile. “No, Jaime. Just drop it. Let's... go to class, shall we?” 

Jaime frowned, obviously not reassured, but then a smile crept over his face. “Yes. Let's go.” His eyes were suddenly twinkling with anticipation. 

There was something he wasn't telling her, she could feel it in every fibre of her body. Now she was even more nervous than she'd been already. 

***

The classroom was empty when they came in, which struck Brienne as strange, as Mrs Stark was usually early. Still, the lights were on and a sheet book was set out on the piano. 

Maybe she was at the secretariat, what with the administration that came with the beginning of the academic year? Or maybe she was –

“Stark isn't coming, in case you're wondering,” Jaime interrupted her, that strange smile still tugging at his lips. “Classes aren't starting until next week, didn't you know?”

 _What?_ “But Mrs Stark explicitly told me to be here!“ Brienne exclaimed. 

“Well, Stark might or might not be involved in my scheme to get you here, today.”

No lesson. A scheme. Brienne's mind was trying to wrap around the information, but didn't quite succeed. “Jaime? What on earth – ?"

Suddenly Jaime's expression turned serious. “It had to be us, wench. For the first time, it had to be just me and you.” He held her gaze until it dawned on her. 

_He was going to play. For her._ A warm feeling spread in her chest – a feeling that she didn't dare to examine too closily. 

“Sit down, Brienne, please,” he said. As he positioned himself on the piano stool, slightly more to the right than he used to, she noticed he was nervous. 

As he started playing, though, his left hand all but flying over the keys, she could feel him gradually getting into the music. He didn't master the new technique completely – yet – , but it was unbelievable what he'd achieved in just a few months work. 

Moreover, the emotions he was able to convey with his playing, were more intense than ever before. He sounded so mature all of a sudden, and the intonation was close to perfect, but knowing what had caused it, everything he'd been through – it made Brienne's heart clench in a painful way. 

She didn't even realize she was crying until the music stopped and Jaime was suddenly right beside her, wobbling awkwardly on his good leg. 

“Hey,” he whispered, looking upset. He crouched down and gently wiped away the tears from her cheeks. “I didn't mean to make you cry. I just wanted you to be the first to hear."

“Thank you,” Brienne said, her voice strangled. “That was – amazing. Truly amazing.”

She could almost see Jaime swell with both pride and joy, and at that point, she simply couldn't help herself. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. It was the closest they'd been in a long, long time and for a moment, she was unsure of her welcome, but then she felt him return the hug, smiling against her temple. 

They stayed like that for a moment, but then Brienne reluctantly let go. This wasn't about her. “I want to hear the rest,” she said decidedly. 

***

And Jaime played. All six of the Etudes, never once even stretching his hand or showing the faintest sign of fatigue. 

When he'd finished, Brienne knew she was gaping at him in the most ridiculous way. “You – this is impossible, Jaime! How did you – you must have spent every waking hour – ”

“Told you I've been busy, didn't I?” Jaime looked at her for a moment, before dropping his hand in his lap, his eyes following the movement. “You thought I was avoiding you.”

“Yes.” To Brienne, honesty was always the best policy. 

Jaime remained uncharacteristially silent for a while, but then he sighed. “You're right. I _was_ avoiding you. And I wasn't planning on ever telling you, dammit.”

Brienne cocked her head slightly, refraining from saying anything more. He'd tell her, if he wanted to. 

“I –" Jaime sounded hoarse when he started talking, still not looking at her. “I've been feeling so utterly _worthless_ , Brienne.” He swallowed thickly. “I felt like I needed to... _be_ someone again, before I could see you.”

“You were always someone to me,” Brienne answered immediately. "Always." She did understand what he was saying, but it was important that he knew that. 

When he looked up, Jaime eyes were shining and there was so much pain in them. “Maybe. But _I_ couldn't feel it, for a long time. Everything I'd worked so hard for, was gone, and I felt like I'd lost... myself, somehow.” 

Brienne was silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. “I think I understand,” she finally managed. “But you're not defined by your playing, Jaime. Even though I couldn't be more happy at what you have achieved during the last couple of months.” Gods, but she was proud of him. “I like you because you're _you_ , not because of your skills.”

Jaime snorted in self-deprecation. “Because I'm _me_. It's not like I was a lot of fun to be around, I'm guessing. I practically threw that sheet book in your face, for god's sake.”

“Well, you _were_ an absolute pain in the ass,” Brienne admitted. It was out before she knew it. For a moment she held her breath, convinced that she'd managed to ruin just about everything, but then Jaime started laughing out loud and for the first time that evening, Brienne felt like she could actually _breathe_. 

“I suppose that I was,” Jaime bit his lip, trying to stifle his laugh. “An asshole, I mean.” 

“Well, yeah.” She shrugged, . “But you were kind of an asshole even before that, so there wasn't much difference, you know.”

Jaime laughed out loud at that, but then their eyes connected and his whole expression changed. “And yet you were always there,” he said, wonder clear in his voice. “Every step of the way, you were there, visiting me, supporting me. And then it was you who showed me the way to get out of that hell." He frowned. "Why?”

Brienne looked from Jaime to the piano to the fluorescent light switch on the wall. “Why not?” she countered feebly. “We're... friends, right? That's what –”

Jaime wasn't fooled one bit. “Don't turn this around, wench. I look –" His chin pointed vaguely in the direction of his right arm. “Atrocious. Even my own sister told me so. And the way I behaved towards you, was downright awful. I... don't understand. Why, Brienne?”

Her heart suddenly started thudding in her chest. Did she really have to spell it out for him? It felt strange, having to say it out loud, especially given the fact that she'd hardly seen him during the last couple of weeks. 

“Because I love you, you idiot,” she blurted out. _There. She'd said it, and it was too late to take it back._ “Because you're _you_ , and to me it doesn't matter if you're missing a hand, or a foot, or your nose, for that matter. You're _you_ , and you're an amazing person. And you shouldn't listen to your dreadful sister so much, if you ask me.” 

She closed her eyes when she realized what she'd just said, convinced that she'd really done it this time. If she hadn't spooked him with her declaration of love, then surely her comment about Cersei would drive him away. She stood up, taking her jacket with trembling hands. As she went for the classroom's door, though, she was stopped by Jaime's hand on her hip, gently turning her around. 

When she did, she found him staring at her unbelievingly. “You – love me?” 

Brienne nodded, not trusting her voice at this point. 

What she saw in Jaime's eyes, made her heart leap up in her chest. Where there had been disbelief at first, she now saw hope, and joy, and was that -?" 

“I love you, too,” he whispered. “Gods, but there's no one I wanted to hear those words from more than you.” His hand cradled her cheek for a moment, before pulling her into a kiss. It was different from the kisses they'd shared before, so many months ago – this wasn't passion or lust, it was simply two people finding each other again, at a point where everything between them had seemed to be lost. 

Brienne returned the kiss, intently, but she didn't mind when Jaime broke it and put his head on her shoulder, not exactly crying but close to it. 

She simply stroked his hair, mumbling sweet nothings, resting her head against his. There would still be many bumps along the ride, she realized that, but at least now she knew they were in this together. 


End file.
